“No, sir; when I compare it with the place where I spent this evening, it makes me mortified and ashamed.”
“You were at a party, you said?”
“Yes, sir, in a fine brown stone mansion up town.”
“Isn’t it a little unusual for a telegraph boy living in a tenement house to be invited to a fashionable party?”
“Yes, sir, but these are very kind friends of mine, who overlook my poor social position, and notice me as much as if I lived in a house as good as their own.”
“I think they must be uncommon people, but I approve them for all that. ‘A man’s a man for a’ that,’ as Robert Burns says in his poem. That is, it makes no difference whether he is rich or poor, whether he lives in a palace or a hovel, if there is good stuff in him, he deserves honor.”
“I would like to see the whole poem,” said Paul. “I think Burns is right.”
“So do I, but I must not forget that it is late, and I am keeping you from your bed. I have not told you my name yet.”
“No, sir.”
“It is Eliot Wade. The firm name is William O. Wade & Co., of St Louis. We have a wholesale clothing house, and propose to establish a similar one in New York. Now, when this arrangement is effected, how can I communicate with you?”